


Curl Up and Pie

by madrabbitgirl



Series: Slice of Love [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food Porn, Friends to Lovers, Human AU, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Newt is always human, Pie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, descriptions of food, only NOT PORN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl
Summary: Crowley is back for another late-night visit to the Curl Up and Pie diner! This time he finds the angel off shift and sampling some of the merchandise which makes Crowley want to sample something himself.Part of the Slice of Love Human AU - you might need to read the first one in order to enjoy this little fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Slice of Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023696
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91





	Curl Up and Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadMags](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMags/gifts).



> Don’t write diner fiction when you’re hungry. It’s a mistake. 
> 
> This is a part of the Slice of Love series and it does reference the first one.

Aziraphale was _not_ addicted to food, despite what a certain ex-boyfriend said. He was a connoisseur, certainly. He appreciated food, of course. But he was decidedly _not_ addicted. It was still hard, however, not to hear the lamentations of his dreadful ex whenever he decided to have something a little sweet or a little rich or a little fried. 

But he _was_ employed at a place that served the most delightful pies he’d ever tasted and sometimes he just had to, as the children said, ‘treat himself’. 

“Hey, angel. Fancy meeting you here,” that stranger with the sunglasses said, sliding into the booth across from him. Long fingers gestured in Aziraphale’s direction. “Not working tonight?” 

Aziraphale glanced down, feeling slightly self-conscious. He knew that there had been complaints from previous lovers regarding his attire (among other things). He preferred natural fibres in beige and cream tones, sometimes going wild with a hint of tartan or light brown, and he was wild for vintage aesthetics. Obviously, look at where he spent most nights. He blushed. “Ah, what gave it away?” 

The man snorted, sprawling backwards with his arms over the edge of the booth. His thin charcoal tee shirt stretched over his lanky body under a fitted black jacket and Aziraphale was consciously aware of how completely opposite they must look. “You’re sitting down, for starters. You don’t seem like the sitting down type. At work, that is.” 

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve got it a bit wrong. I am not working this evening, but I’m also very much the sitting-down type,” Aziraphale replied. 

“You’re not working, but you still come in on your day-er-night off for pie,” the man stated, lips twitching at the sides in a smirk. 

Ah, yes. The pie. 

“I believe it’s called ‘Gift From Heaven’ pie,” Aziraphale said, glancing down wistfully at the pastry that sat prettily on the table in front of him. It was a generous, deep brown slice of pie with a perfectly flaky crust resting on a small, pristine white plate. A dollop of fresh whipped topping swirled on top and a steaming mug of cocoa sat next to it, made with real milk and topped with a few marshmallows. It was so picturesque that it looked like it belonged on some chocoholic’s social media post, not that Aziraphale would know anything about social media.

“Well, by all means,” the man said with a wave towards Aziraphale’s plate. “Don’t let me stop you.” 

“And you’ll, what? Watch me eat? Don’t you want anything this time?” Aziraphale asked. He wasn’t at all willing to pick up his fork while the man just sat there, making him feel awkward. And then it occurred to him. “I don’t believe you ever told me your name last time we met.” 

“Ah. Ummm, S’Crowley. Nah, I’ll, uhhh, I want a coffee. S’why I came,” Crowley said. His casual sprawl retracted into an awkward hunch before he stood. “I could keep you company. If you wanted.” 

“Oh. Well, yes, if you’d like.” Crowley seemed to brighten at that and he sauntered over to the counter where Newt was cleaning off menus, ordering himself a cup of coffee. Black, of course, Aziraphale assumed. He turned his attention back to his own beverage and snack. He unrolled his fork from the napkin and picked up a bite of pie with his fork. The whipped cream had been made fresh and curled perfectly on the top of the rich chocolate custard filling. He took a bite.

It was perfect. 

Usually he preferred fruit pies, but something about his maudlin-midnight-musings had him choosing the comfort of chocolate over something more tart. It was the right choice. He let out a soft moan and picked up another bite. 

Crowley was staring at him. 

Aziraphale looked up, realizing the man had returned, a white cup of coffee in his hand, and he was staring, open mouthed, at Aziraphale as he ate. He felt his cheeks flush under the scrutiny. 

“I- I ehm, it’s quite good,” Aziraphale murmured, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his paper napkin. Crowley seemed jolted back to life and he slid stiffly onto the bench, letting his coffee hit the table a little too hard as he put it down. Brown liquid sloshed over his hand and he cursed. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, reaching for a spare napkin from the metal box on the table. “Here you are.” 

“Thanksss,” Crowley hissed, rubbing his damp fingers on the paper. He cleared his throat and blotted at the spill on the table. An awkward silence settled over them, with Aziraphale unwilling to resume enjoying his pie and Crowley seemingly embarrassed over something, Aziraphale wasn’t sure what. 

“So. I assume you’ve left your scaly friend at home this time? I don’t think Newt has recovered from retrieving Mittens from the jukebox,” Aziraphale prompted after a few minutes of silence passed. Crowley snorted. 

“Do you see a bowling bag? No bag, no Mittens,” Crowley told him. He relaxed again, sprawling against the vinyl. Hesitantly, he gestured again to Aziraphale’s pie. “Go ahead. Looksss good.” 

“It is,” Aziraphale said, giving him a small smile. He picked his fork back up and took another scoop of pie, bringing it to his mouth. The crust was a perfect contrast to the rich filling, providing a hint of savory-salt flavor among all the sweetness of the chocolate. He realized Crowley was staring again. “You’re not eating again?” 

“Eh, I don’t eat much. Besides, I’ve got other ways of satisfying myself,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale was sure if he weren’t wearing sunglasses he’d have winked. He knew it from the way the skin over one sharp, defined cheekbone twitched upwards, a roguish grin playing on his lips. “You were enjoying yourself. Don’t let me interrupt.” 

“Ah. Perhaps I was enjoying myself just a little too much. I’ve been criticized for it before, but I suppose I’m still a bit of a _foodie_ ,” Aziraphale told him, his tone sounding more apologetic than he meant for it to. Crowley’s brows drew together and he frowned.

“Criticised?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but before he got the chance they were interrupted. Newt was standing awkwardly next to the table, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Aziraphale? Sorry to interrupt, but since there’s no one else in, I’m just going to go in the back and talk to Shadwell about learning to cook. You guys okay out here?” 

“Oh, of course! If anyone comes in, I’ll let you know,” Aziraphale promised with a bright smile. He waited until Newt had gone back into the kitchen before continuing. “Newt is a decent enough server, but he desperately wants to be a cook. Sad thing is that he’s not very good at it, and having Mittens terrorize him the other night certainly didn’t help. Shadwell is so patient-” A shout cut him off and he grimaced as he continued. “Err, well, perhaps not quite so patient.” 

“Alright,” Crowley allowed, wincing as another shout came from the direction of the kitchen. He seemed to let the subject of Aziraphale’s shyness drop for the moment. With a happy wiggle and a sigh, Aziraphale took another bite as well as evasive measures.

“So, what brought you back to us? Did you enjoy your coffee that much?” Aziraphale asked, not realizing that he’d let out a little moan of enjoyment around his mouthful of pie. Crowley gulped, but quickly hid it within a smirk. 

“S’not bad coffee. Actually, I came back for the company.” There was that roguish tilt to his cheekbone, a gentle wrinkling of skin, that hinted at another wink.

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale muttered, looking down at his nearly empty plate. He knew from the heat on his cheeks that he was blushing. 

“Lemme tell ya, angel. Whoever made you feel like you shouldn’t enjoy things,” Crowley said, leaning forward, with both his arms resting on the table. “They’re an idiot. Watching you enjoy that pie, it’s practically indecent. It’s _sinful_.” 

If Aziraphale’s cheeks were heated before, they were on fire now. “Well, I don’t know about all that.”

Crowley picked up the fork from where it sat resting on the plate. He scooped up a bit of pie and offered it to Aziraphale, who started to lean forward but hesitated. Crowley cocked a ginger brow upwards, questioning. 

“Too fast for you? Come on, angel. Let me tempt you,” Crowley said gently. Just as Aziraphale leaned forward, giving in to temptation, Crowley faltered and pulled back a tiny bit. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. “Wuzzat?” 

“Oh, it’s-” Aziraphale had been about to excuse his cologne- it was new and he wasn’t quite sure his barber had made a great suggestion- but then he caught on to what Crowley was smelling. “Oh, dear, something is burning.” 

“Bollocks!” A loud swear and then a shout came out of the kitchen as the entire restaurant started to fill with thick black smoke. Crowley dropped the fork, causing chocolate pie to splatter on the table. 

“Careful, Crowley, my suit-”

“Angel, smoke is worse to get out than chocolate stains,” Crowley told him, pulling the angelic man towards the door. “Come on, let’s get out.” 

“Oh, but Shadwell!” 

“I think he’ll be fine. It’s probably just a little-” The sprinklers started to go off just as they were heading out, causing Crowley’s perfectly styled hair to fall forward and stick to his forehead. “See? They’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale let out a heavy breath once they were on the street, twisting his hands together. He heard Crowley sigh as well before saying, “Well. That killed the mood, dinnit?” 

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post again so soon but I had a real annoying day at work and this was the result. 
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)
> 
> The original prompt was something like: "for fans of the coffeeshop au, i present the concept of: 24 Hour Diner AU. most plot action happens around 4am. there is always something vaguely eldritch going on in the background, no matter the writer’s intentions. always. the actual fic is pure plotless fluff. the protagonists are too wrapped up in their relationship anxieties to notice the minor character summoning/defeating cthulhu in the background" (Credit, I believe, goes to biggest-gaudiest-patronuses)


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